


Silver Medal Vacation

by WretchedArtifact



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Beta Otabek Altin, Beta/Omega, Fantasizing, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Omega Yuri Plisetsky, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28192785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretchedArtifact/pseuds/WretchedArtifact
Summary: When Otabek comes to Russia to visit Yuri for a week, Yuri is thrilled to finally have a chance to spend some uninterrupted time with his best friend.  He makes plans to show Otabek around the city, and take him to restaurants, and generally make it the best vacation Otabek's ever had.And then an ill-timed heat ruins absolutely fucking everything.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 3
Kudos: 164
Collections: Writing Rainbow Silver





	Silver Medal Vacation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soulstoned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulstoned/gifts).



Yuri woke up in the middle of the night with a metallic taste on the back of his tongue. He was tired and disoriented enough that for a few wonderful seconds, he couldn’t remember what that meant. Then he turned on his side to go back to sleep, and he realized his pillowcase was slightly damp under his cheek. His neck was sweating. He was burning up under the covers. He was—

“Oh fuck,” Yuri said out loud. “Fuck fuck shit _fuck_.”

He was having a breakthrough heat. Ever since Yuri presented as an omega three years ago, Yuri’s doctor had put him on a carefully calibrated schedule of heat suppressants to make sure he could get through the competitive skating season without needing to take time off. Once the season was over, he was supposed to taper off of them so his heats could cycle through naturally. But this year Yuri had pushed it a little. Otabek was visiting him in Russia for the first time ever, and Yuri hadn’t wanted to ruin things by having a heat in the middle of their one week together. His suppressant schedule couldn’t be so finely-fucking-calibrated that taking them for an extra week would make a difference, right?

 _Fuck._ Yuri sat up in bed and raked his damp hair back off his forehead. If his breakthrough heat followed the same pattern as his normal heats, it would knock him out for a full six days. Otabek was only here for five more days. Goddammit, Yuri had been so fucking _excited_ to finally get to spend some time with Otabek outside of competitions and FaceTime. Otabek had rented a motorcycle so they could get around the city faster, and Yuri had a whole list of cool places they could visit, and restaurants they could eat at, and dumb touristy shit that they could go and laugh at underneath their breaths. And now all of that was off the table. Now just having Otabek in his _apartment_ seemed like a bad idea. Otabek was a beta, so at least he wouldn’t be bothered by the shit-ton of pheromones Yuri was pumping out, but Yuri also made for extremely shitty company when he was in the middle of a heat. Even during the lull periods when he _wasn_ _’t_ 100% laser-focused on getting off, all he could do was bum around his apartment like someone with a bad hangover, snacking and huddling on his couch and watching TV.

Yuri got out of bed and went to his bedroom door. He very, very quietly opened it and peeked out into the living room of his apartment. Otabek was asleep on the fold-out couch, blissfully unaware of Yuri’s predicament. It was, weirdly, the first time Yuri had ever seen Otabek sleeping—Otabek usually woke up before him. Otabek’s normally well-styled hair was an endearing mess against the pillow, and he was sleeping with his shirt off. Yuri could see the curving definition of his bicep where his arm was splayed on the bed.

Which normally wouldn’t be noteworthy, except Yuri could feel the pulse of heat-induced desire starting to throb deep inside him, and looking at his shirtless best friend was just going to make things confusing. Yuri closed the door as quickly and quietly as he could and hurried over to his bed. He leaned down and pulled out the box of heat aids he kept stashed underneath. With a bitterly experienced eye he picked out the one that always worked best at the start of his heats: not too long or thick, with a mechanically expanding knot that was only big enough to give him a little kick of pressure at the end. Eventually it wouldn’t be enough and he’d have to go larger, but for now it would ease him into things.

Yuri grabbed a towel and put it down on his bedsheet, then took off his pants and laid down. God, it was fucking humiliating that he was doing this while Otabek was in the next room. But Yuri knew from experience that if he didn’t take the edge off right away, his head would get messed up enough that he’d just embarrass himself even worse.

He reached down and pressed the tip of the fake dick to his hole. The dildo slid up his ass easily, and all of his nerves hummed with immediate satisfaction at the feeling of being filled. He spread his legs, adjusted his arms and back into as comfortable a position as he could, and slowly started fucking himself with it.

Shit, the sound of it moving inside him was loud in the silent apartment. Yuri’s body was wet and ready, and each thrust of the dildo seemed to announce that fact to the air around him. What if it woke Otabek up? What if Otabek got up out of bed, messy-haired and shirtless, and knocked on Yuri’s door to figure out what was going on?

An unexpectedly deep pulse of pleasure rocked through Yuri as his mind conjured up the image: Otabek, standing on the other side of the door in just his sweatpants, the drawstring loose so the cloth just barely hung from jut of his hips. Otabek, with his strong shoulders and muscular abdomen bare, knocking on Yuri’s door with concern. “Yura?” he’d ask in his deep, familiar voice, and when Yuri didn’t answer he’d open the door. And he’d see Yuri like this: naked, legs spread, fucking himself faster and faster as the pleasure made his back arch up off the bed.

Yuri reached down and started jerking his dick in time with the thrust of the dildo. Fuck, he should _not_ be thinking about that kind of shit right now. The fucking heat was hijacking his brain. Yuri knew intellectually that if Otabek _actually_ opened the door and saw him like this, they’d both be mortified. Otabek was Yuri’s best friend, and he was also the most honest person Yuri knew, and if he’d ever been interested in Yuri like...like _that,_ then he would’ve said so already. But he hadn’t, and so Yuri knew for sure he didn’t feel that way.

Which was totally fine. The two of them only saw each other a couple times a year, anyway, and Otabek spent a lot of time DJing in clubs, surrounded by hot people who were just as cool as he was. Otabek could seriously have anyone he wanted. He could have a new person every night. And Yuri was fine with that. Totally fine.

But his dopey fucking heat-brain was yelling at him now about how _close_ Otabek was, right on the other side of the door. Yuri had always taken care of his heats by himself, never with another person, because the thought of some stranger touching him made him feel gross beyond belief. But his body always _wanted_ another person to be there during his heats. And Otabek definitely wasn’t a stranger. Otabek was one of the few people in the world that Yuri fully, completely trusted.

 _Fuck._ Yuri knew it was horrible of him, but he couldn’t help himself: he squeezed his eyes shut and let his mind spool out the next scene of his fantasy from before. Otabek standing shirtless in Yuri’s doorway, staring at Yuri’s naked body with silent appreciation. Otabek pulling off his sweatpants, revealing strong thighs like sculpted marble and a hard bulge in his underwear. Otabek taking a few long strides across the room, going to his knees on the bed, pulling down his underwear to show— _fuck_ , Yuri really wished he knew what his dick looked like.

And then Otabek’s mouth would crush against his, and their bare chests would press together, and the dildo would be tossed aside so the heat of a _real_ dick could sink into Yuri’s ass. Yuri would put his arms around Otabek’s neck, and Otabek would wrap his hand around Yuri’s dick, and their hips would start thrusting in tandem, and—

Alone on the bed, Yuri’s hands started moving viciously fast, fucking and jerking himself to a fantasy that he _knew_ he should be ashamed of. In less than a minute he felt himself about to tip over into the first orgasm of his heat, and he fumbled for the button on the dildo. The small knot inflated at the base, a tight, wedging pressure.

And even though Otabek was a beta, Yuri put that in his fantasy too: Otabek knotting him, filling him up tight, the two of them locked together and panting into each other’s mouths. The thought of it was so fucking hot that Yuri came instantly all over his stomach, every nerve in his body singing with relief. The wave of pleasure went on and on for a surprisingly long time before it crashed, leaving his relieved body slumping limply back on the bed.

And that’s when the shame _did_ hit him, filling up the space in his head where the heat-haze had been. He’d been jerking off to fantasies of Otabek while Otabek was a fucking guest in his apartment—while Otabek was close enough to _hear_ it. Otabek shouldn’t spend another night in Yuri’s apartment if Yuri was going to lose control like that.

From past experience, Yuri knew that he had about forty-five minutes before his brain started to fog up again. He crawled out of bed and went to clean himself up. He would clean up, get dressed, and then go out and tell Otabek the truth about what had happened. Not the _whole_ truth—oh Jesus fucking Christ, no—but the truth that Yuri was going to have to cancel their long-awaited vacation together.

God, it was so fucking unfair.

...

Otabek woke from a deep sleep to the feeling of his mattress gently shaking underneath him. He cracked open an eye and saw Yuri was standing next to the fold-out couch, jostling the metal frame with his knee. “Hey,” Yuri said. “Sorry to wake you up.”

Otabek blinked up at him. The room was still dark, except for a tiny bit of dawn light coming in through the window, and Yuri was wearing baggy leopard-print pajama pants and a black hoodie with the hood pulled up. His hands were sunk deeply into the hoodie’s front pocket, and his arms were clenched tight against his sides. “Is everything okay?” Otabek asked, his voice rusty.

“Yeah,” Yuri said, seemingly on autopilot. Then, with a grimace: “No.”

His flat honesty worried Otabek enough that he sat up in bed, trying to shake himself awake. “What is it?” he asked, leaning in closer to see Yuri better.

To his surprise, Yuri startled and took two large steps backward. “Uh, you shouldn’t,” Yuri said. “I’m, uh...”

Otabek squinted at him. Yuri’s face was flushed a dusky red, and the look in his eyes was a little vacant. There was something familiar about that expression, but Otabek’s tired brain couldn’t quite piece together why.

Yuri’s posture seemed to wind up tighter and tighter. Then he said, through gritted teeth, “I just started a heat.”

Oh. The memory suddenly clicked into place in Otabek’s mind: Otabek’s roommate Evan, back in Canada, had gotten that same distracted look on his face when he had a heat coming up. “Oh,” Otabek said out loud. “Shit.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Yuri said in a rush. “I was trying to push my suppressants to last another week, but I must’ve fucked it up somehow. And now I’ve completely ruined your trip.”

He sounded upset enough that Otabek had to fight the urge to get up and go over to him. “Hold on,” Otabek said, lifting his hands in a _wait_ gesture. “We can figure this out, okay? How long do your cycles usually last?”

“Six days.”

Otabek raised his eyebrows. Evan’s heats had only lasted two or three days at most. “Okay,” he said. “And how do you usually deal with them? Do you go to a clinic, or have someone come over, or...?”

Yuri gave him a strange look. “I stay home and deal with it until it’s done.”

Oh. That would explain the six days. Evan had always gotten a partner for his heats, so he could get them over with as fast as possible. _“You can either starve a heat, or you can feed it,”_ he’d told Otabek once, and it gave Otabek a strange, almost dismayed feeling to realize that Yuri always starved it. “Okay,” Otabek said. “And is it...intense...the whole time? Or does it come in waves?”

Yuri seemed to pick up what he was angling at. “I don’t see the point in you sticking around between waves,” he said bluntly. “When it’s not intense, all I can do is sit around like a lump.”

Honestly, that didn’t sound bad to Otabek at all. Yuri had been so excited about Otabek’s visit that he’d planned a bunch of activities for them, but Otabek was just as happy staying in and hanging out in Yuri’s apartment. Otabek had spent time in Russia before, but this was his first opportunity to actually spend time alone with Yuri. The night before, he and Yuri had played video games, and listened to some of Otabek’s music, and talked about skating and their families and their lives. On the surface it sounded boring, but it was one of the best nights Otabek could remember having in a long time.

“Yura, I definitely don't want to put you in an uncomfortable situation,” Otabek said. “But you should know, I’ve been around heats before. My roommate in Canada used to have them. Nothing about it would shock me.”

Yuri’s expression pulled inward a little. “Like, you were around in the house while he had them?”

“In our apartment, yeah,” Otabek said. “Neither of us had anywhere else we could stay, so we just...worked around it.”

Yuri didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then: “Wasn’t it fucking embarrassing?” he asked. He lifted one hand and rubbed self-consciously at the side of his face, where a tendril of sweat-damp blond hair was clinging to his cheek.

“Maybe at first, but not for very long,” Otabek said. “It’s just...something that happens.”

He could see the conflict in Yuri’s expression. “It’s up to you,” Otabek said. “But if you asked me to choose between going home now, or only spending a few hours a day with you, I’d want to stay. A few hours are better than nothing.”

Yuri shook his head. “I’d be such a shitty host during it.”

“I can take over some of that,” Otabek said. “I can order food, or do grocery runs.”

 _That_ seemed to hold more weight than anything Otabek had previously said, going by the sudden musing shift in Yuri’s expression. If this was a surprise heat, Yuri probably hadn’t done any shopping for supplies ahead of time. “You seriously want to stay?” Yuri said at last, like he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

“Yes,” Otabek said solidly. “I’ve been looking forward to this trip all year. This doesn’t have to ruin anything.”

Yuri rubbed the side of his face again. The flush on his skin had grown a little darker. “Okay, fine,” he said. He looked over at his bedroom door. “Then I guess I’ll just...” His lip curled. “Go fuck myself.”

Otabek could tell Yuri was trying to shock him by saying it. Otabek wasn’t shocked, but his brain did momentarily pop the image up into his head: Yuri, lying in bed in just his rumpled black hoodie, pants gone, one hand wrapped firmly around his—

Otabek hastily shoved that thought away. Thoughts like that weren’t going to help anything. “I’m going to go back to sleep,” he said, trying to make his voice as even-sounding as possible. “Text me a grocery list when you’re done.”

Yuri cast one last semi-disbelieving look back at Otabek, then nodded. He shuffled over to his bedroom door and went back inside.

When the door closed, Otabek gave a long, quiet exhale and laid back down. He pressed his hands against his face and found his cheeks were warm. He and Yuri had been friends for a year and a half, and every time Otabek had an... _unhelpful_ thought like that one, he made himself remember something Yuri had said to him on their last night in Barcelona. “I don’t have a lot of friends,” Yuri said. “So tell me if I fuck anything up, okay? I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Otabek didn’t want to fuck up their friendship, either. Getting to see Yuri during the competition season was the highlight of his year. He couldn’t stand the thought of showing up to a competition and having Yuri awkwardly avoid him, all because Otabek had pushed feelings on him that he knew for a fact Yuri didn’t share.

...

Sharing a heat with someone was really weird.

Not that Yuri was actually _sharing_ his heat with Otabek. He was just kind of...doing it around him. It was intensely weird to be lying in his bed, thrusting his slightly thicker Day 2 dildo up his ass, knowing Otabek was sitting there on the other side of the door. It was intensely weird that Otabek could be so blasé and matter-of-fact about everything, while Yuri was stuck in there for hours every day, coming again and again just to the memory of Otabek’s shirtless chest.

Because _fuck_ , his brain was not letting go of Otabek’s close proximity. Otabek wasn’t an alpha, and he wasn’t putting out any pheromones, but Yuri’s dumbass heat-brain kept insisting that it didn’t matter, that he _needed_ Otabek’s hands and mouth and dick if he wanted to survive. It made it hard to face Otabek during the lull periods, when he came out into the living room feeling sore and feverish and fucked out, and had to see Otabek give him that pleased, unsuspecting smile.

But...it _did_ get less embarrassing over time, the way Otabek said it would. The first time Yuri had to get up from eating lunch with Otabek because he was suddenly too horny to eat was possibly the most mortifying thing he had ever experienced. But the third or fourth time it happened, it didn’t sting as badly. Eventually he stopped feeling embarrassed by the way Otabek was subtly taking care of him: leaving snacks and sports drinks out on the kitchen counter, leaving a pile of freshly laundered towels on the floor outside his door. And he even felt a twinge of guilty pleasure when he realized that Otabek was starting to recognize all his tics and warning signs, giving Yuri easy excuses to leave before the heat-haze fully settled in.

But the fact that it started to feel less embarrassing also made it worse, in a way. Otabek was being the absolute best friend Yuri could ask for—someone Yuri could rely on completely—and Yuri was repaying him by making him the unwilling star of all his heat-soaked fantasies. By the time Yuri was digging out his Day 3 dildo, the one with the ludicrously large inflatable knot, he had basically created a full-length mental porno of the two of them together, one that he could rewind and fast-forward and rewrite on the fly. Yuri eased the larger dildo into him, exhilarated by the fullness and stretch, and without any shame at all he started playing the fantasy through again. Yuri, on his hands and knees, with Otabek behind him. Otabek's hands tight on Yuri’s hips, fucking into him so hard that the mattress lurched underneath them. Otabek would lean down and press a kiss to the back of Yuri’s neck, a sweet kiss that turned into a bite, and then he would palm Yuri’s dick and start stroking him, overwhelming him in every possible way—

Yuri groaned out loud and fumbled for the button on the dildo. When he pressed it, the knot ballooned up inside of him, searingly tight and perfect. Yuri threw his head back, spurted on his stomach, and cried out, _“Beka!”_

The word vibrated loudly through the silence of the apartment.

All at once, Yuri’s pleasure was completely swallowed up by horror. Fuck. Fucking shit _fuck_. He’d _called out Otabek’s name_. It was one thing to keep all those fantasies safely locked up in his head, and another thing to shout his best friend’s name when he was _very obviously_ climaxing. Fuck. _Fuck._ Maybe Otabek wasn’t in the apartment. Maybe he had his headphones on. Maybe he—

“Yura?” came Otabek’s voice, very close to the bedroom door. “Are you okay? Did you need something?”

Yuri wished he could turn incorporeal and sink through the floor until he hit the molten center of the Earth. He croaked out, unconvincingly, “Could you, uh, get me a drink and leave it outside my door?”

“Sure,” Otabek said, and half a minute later Yuri heard his footsteps return. “Okay, it’s out there.”

“Thanks,” Yuri said. He listened intently for the sound of Otabek’s footsteps moving away, and once he was sure he was gone, he rolled over and pushed his face into his pillow and vigorously tried to suffocate himself.

 _Fuck_.

...

Otabek went into the bathroom and locked the door. For a second he didn’t move, and then he turned around to look at his reflection, like it could offer him some answers.

His pale, startled face didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. They were three days into Yuri’s heat, in what Yuri tiredly described as the worst portion of it. Yuri was already physically and mentally exhausted from the first two days, but this was the point when his heat symptoms were at their most intense. Otabek could tell: even during the lull periods when Yuri emerged from his room, he wasn’t exactly himself anymore. He was soft and dazed and malleable, in a way that made Otabek a little afraid of getting too close to him.

And when Yuri _was_ in his bedroom, he was much less circumspect than before. Otabek could hear his moans and his harsh, panting breaths coming through the closed door. At first it was weird, but that was fine; it was just another embarrassment for the two of them to get past.

And then Yuri had shouted his name.

Otabek looked away from his reflection in the mirror, and with a feeling of guilt and desperation he fumbled at the fly of his pants. He eased out his half-hard dick and started jerking it, too fast, with no buildup. His mind was empty except for the looping audio of Yuri’s wrecked voice crying _“Beka!”,_ and in less than a minute Otabek was half-bent over the counter, his body shuddering and bucking, coming so hard that the world seemed like it had splintered behind his eyes.

It wasn’t the first time Otabek had locked himself up in the bathroom this week. Being around Yuri when he was so soft and tired, so open and unfiltered, had made all of Otabek’s... _unhelpful_ feelings toward him come rushing to the forefront of his mind. Once or twice a day, Otabek had to get away from Yuri and...take the edge off, before he said anything he’d regret. He had felt tremendously guilty every time he’d done it; guilty enough that he’d considered leaving the apartment more than once, so there could be no chance of Yuri realizing what Otabek was doing and ending their friendship in disgust.

But now—

Otabek hurriedly cleaned up, re-fastened his pants, and went back into the living room. He had no idea what to do, so he decided to just go back to what he was doing before, which was making dinner. His hands started moving quickly and clumsily as he tried to re-focus his attention; he dropped a fork and broke an egg on the counter in the first twenty seconds. 

Then Otabek heard the soft _click_ of Yuri’s door opening. Otabek's shaking hands managed to pour milk from a measuring cup about six inches away from the intended pot, and he cursed as it spilled. "Hi," Otabek said, trying desperately to sound normal. “I’m just making dinner. It should be ready in half an hour.”

Yuri was wearing the black hoodie again, with the hood pulled up and his hands sunk in the front pocket. His face was dark red. "Beka," he said. 

His voice was low and tight, and immediately Otabek could tell he wasn't pretending things were normal anymore. "I think..." Yuri said. "I think I fucked things up."

Otabek swallowed. “No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

“I don’t just mean—” Yuri jerked a thumb toward the bedroom door. “ _That._ I’ve been fucking things up since this started.” He stopped, then forced the next words in a rush. “I’ve been thinking about you while I'm in there. Not just then. The whole time.”

Otabek felt a shivering shock roll down his spine. _The whole time_. That meant when Otabek had been locked up in the bathroom, guiltily getting off to thoughts of Yuri, Yuri had been locked up in his bedroom, imagining Otabek. “Is that just—” Otabek said, the words tangling up on his tongue. “Is that just because...I’m the one here? Because it's okay if—”

 _“No,”_ Yuri said vehemently. His shoulders hunched up to his ears. “It’s because you’re _you_.”

Otabek’s heart turned into a thudding kick drum in his chest. “I’m sorry,” Yuri said, sounding bitter. “I know you were trying to be nice and help me, and I just rui—”

Otabek took a step forward before Yuri could finish that dismal thought. “I was thinking about you too,” Otabek said urgently. “Since I got here. Since before I got here. Since—” Apprehension froze the word on his tongue. He made himself say it: “Since Barcelona."

Yuri stared at him. His hunched shoulders lowered a little. “No,” he said, sounding less shocked and more...annoyed?

“Yes,” Otabek said.

“Since _Barcelona?_ _”_ Yuri demanded, taking a step forward too. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think you felt—”

Yuri flipped down his hood sharply, like it was suddenly too hot to keep up, and took another step forward. “Beka, I am going to fucking _kill_ you,” he said.

Then Yuri was pressed up against him, his fierce mouth ending the sentence right against Otabek’s lips. Otabek’s hands closed on startled autopilot around Yuri’s waist as Yuri kissed him, sloppy and mad and full of barely concealed desperation. It was so dizzying that Otabek thought the kiss might kill him before Yuri had the chance. "I'm sorry," Otabek said, raking one hand through Yuri's tangled blond hair. Yuri leaned into his touch instead of pulling away. "I just...I didn't want to fuck things up. You mean too much to me.”

Yuri pushed their mouths together again, and when they pulled apart, Otabek had the tingling imprint of Yuri’s teeth in his lower lip. “You’re always in, like, nightclubs and shit,” Yuri said. “I didn't think I could compete with any of those people."

It was such a strange thought that Otabek paused to stare at him. “What are you talking about?" he asked. "Why would you think any of them impress me even half as much as you do?”

Yuri’s mouth had been hovering threateningly over his again, like he wanted to take another bite at Otabek's lip, but those words made him pull up short. “You usually tell me things,” Yuri said, so plainly that Otabek knew it was the unvarnished truth. “You just say what you mean. When you wanted to be friends, you just...told me you wanted to be friends. That’s what I was waiting for, for you to tell me.”

Shit. “I want to be more than friends,” Otabek said in a rush.

“Yeah, no _shit,_ _”_ Yuri said, nipping at Otabek’s lower lip again.

“What do you want?”

“I want to be more than friends,” Yuri said, “and I want us to get past the part where that’s weird really fast, because I’ve spent three days trying to get through this fucking heat by myself and I fucking _want you._ _”_

The desperation in his voice caught in Otabek’s soul like a fishhook. “Okay,” Otabek said, running his hand through Yuri’s hair again, pulling him in for another tangled, damp kiss. Yuri was feverishly warm and probably on the cusp of another wave of his heat. “Where do you want to go? The bedroom?”

“I’m fucking sick of the bedroom,” Yuri said. “The couch.”

So Otabek maneuvered Yuri backward through the kitchen until the two of them could collapse down on the couch. Yuri laid on his back and pulled Otabek on top of him, a position so immediately intimate that Otabek’s dick lurched upward in his pants. Yuri wrapped both legs around Otabek, his ankles digging into the back of Otabek’s thighs, and when he levered his hips forward Otabek could feel just how far ahead of him in the process Yuri already was. “Shit,” Otabek breathed, his hips bucking forward instinctively, and the feeling of his cock grinding against Yuri’s was enough to leapfrog him into full hardness.

Yuri’s hands moved through Otabek’s hair, messing it up, clutching at his head. “Beka,” Yuri breathed, and Otabek dove down to kiss the sound of his name on Yuri’s mouth. “We can do it, right? You can fuck me?”

For a second Otabek froze with his mouth on Yuri’s. It felt like a hell of a leap to go from first kiss to fucking, in five minutes flat. But these were special circumstances, and Otabek was already rock-hard, and Yuri’s flushed face and panting breath probably meant he had come out to talk to Otabek while he was still in the deepest throes of his heat. “I don’t have any condoms,” Otabek said.

Yuri shook his head insistently. “You don’t—I’ve got the—” He glanced between his two arms before nodding at the left one. “Birth control implant.”

Otabek’s mouth went dry at the thought of just sliding into Yuri bare. “Um,” he said. “Are you sure it’s—”

Yuri’s hips bucked up against him hard. _“Beka.”_

So Otabek didn’t waste any more time. God, they had already wasted _so much time_. He reached in between them, tugging down Yuri’s leopard-print pajama pants, tugging down his underwear, until he revealed Yuri’s flushed and leaking dick. Otabek gripped it in his hand for a moment, almost reverent. _“Fuck,”_ Yuri spat, his back arching off the couch at just that single squeeze. He gave Otabek’s arm a small shove. “Later.”

Otabek struggled out of his sweatpants and underwear. When he brought out his own dick, Yuri almost headbutted him in his eagerness to get a look at it. “Oh, fuck, _Beka,_ ” Yuri said, sounding a little dazed. “You’ve been keeping that from me since _Barcelona?_ _”_

Otabek could only assume that was a compliment. “Do you need me to do anything before I—” Otabek began.

Yuri canted his hips upward, hooking one leg over the back of the couch. Otabek looked down and felt a stunning pulse of desire at the sight of Yuri, wet and ready, opening himself up to Otabek. Otabek didn’t ask any more questions. He leaned forward, fit the head of his dick against Yuri’s hole, and pressed inside.

Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck—_ it was instantly too much, the slickness and heat, the smooth easy sheathing of his entire cock inside Yuri’s ass. Yuri made a hungry, satisfied noise when Otabek bottomed out, and for a second he clutched at Otabek’s back, making him stay motionless inside him. “Yuri,” Otabek gasped. “I don’t know how long I can—”

“This is Day 3 of 6, asshole,” Yuri said, reaching back up for Otabek’s face. “You better learn to pace yourself.”

Then Yuri pulled their mouths together again, and Otabek’s hips started moving, and it almost felt like he was disappearing into the haze of Yuri’s heat himself. He could barely hold onto his sense of time or place; everything was just _Yuri._ Yuri’s hungry, grinning mouth; Yuri’s tight, slick heat; Yuri’s strong, lean body burning against Otabek’s as they both clutched each other close.

Otabek wasn’t sure how much time passed before he came, but he suspected it was embarrassingly short. Pleasure overwhelmed him in a white-hot flash, and he buried his face in Yuri’s shoulder, shaking and shuddering as he came as deeply inside Yuri’s body as he possibly could. He fully expected Yuri to give him shit for it, but he didn't; Yuri just groaned "Don't move" and wrapped his arms tight around Otabek's back again to keep him in place. It distantly occurred to Otabek that if he’d been an alpha, this was the point when they’d be knotted together. Yuri’s clutching arms seemed to be the next closest thing.

When Otabek came fully back to himself, he felt a little guilty. He said into Yuri’s shoulder, apologetically, “Pacing.”

Yuri laughed. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, running his fingers through Otabek’s hair. “You're on the hook for three more days. That's plenty of time to learn.”


End file.
